Huracan
by wingshock
Summary: Mulder & Scully investigate deaths in Florida, discovering more about the locals and each other.


Title: Huracan Author: Cindy W. aka Wing  
Spoilers: Tiny one for "Squeeze"  
Disclaimer: Mulder Scully belong to Fox, 1013 Chris Carter. The other characters belong to me.  
Feedback: Yepperdoo buckaroo!

X X X

Fall,1999

A storm was forming over the Gulf. Georgia looked out of the jalousie window at the pink and orange clouds. She loved the way grass and trees were covered in a yellow cast. The whole world looked strangely affected. She admired the beauty for a few moments, then she felt the beach calling to her. The pull was irresistible, and even though it was getting dark and the wind was picking up, she slipped on her sandals and left her little peach house.

This feeling came over her sometimes, the need to go to a certain place. She always described it to her friends as a "pull," and most of them would just roll their eyes and humor her. All except for Charles. Charles understood her, even if they had vastly different belief systems.

All of her neighbors were indoors, bracing for the storm. Georgia walked the four blocks slowly, trying unsuccessfully to enjoy the cool breeze. A feeling of dread was growing in her, pressing on her heart. This was the feeling that she always described as "heaviness." Something bad was going to happen. It made her want to go back home, but she persisted south.

By the time she reached the beach, it was twilight. She began to walk westward, wondering why she had been pulled to the beach. The storm was near, and the roaring of the waves grew deafening. They rushed up onto the sand, soaking Georgia's feet. She was feeling heavier each minute.

Suddenly Georgia's mind tossed forward a memory. It was clear, solid - like yesterday. She was a young woman, sitting on her grandmother's living room sofa under a big picture window. The wind was blowing a branch against the glass, and Grandmother was talking about the storm of 1900.

"Bodies were everywhere. Even in the trees. But the sea kept many of them, and people 'round here wouldn't eat crabs or shrimp for a long time after that." Grandmother said. "The waves were like hearses. Ten thousand people died, so many they couldn't bury them all, and so they took to burning them."

"How did you survive, Grandmother?" Georgia had asked.

Grandmother sighed. Quietly, she said, "We were visiting our cousins in San Antonio when the word came." She looked toward the picture window. "Ten thousand people."

A wave rushed up in front of Georgia, startling her. "Waves like hearses" was echoing in her mind. She looked at the darkening Gulf, imagining the bodies, bodies, bodies. That had been in Galveston, 600 miles from here.

Then she remembered the young men who died on this very beach in 1969. They tied themselves to trees in order to "experience" Hurricane Josephine.

The heavy feeling was turning into fear. The storm, the dark water, and ghosts of the long-dead seemed to haunt the beach. Georgia jumped in fright when a piece of seaweed-covered drift wood washed up a few feet ahead of her.

"I should be going now," She said aloud. She knew up ahead there were wooden steps leading to Captain Snapper's restaurant. As soon as she reached them, she planned to get a to-go dinner and then head home. Something inside her said, "Stay," but she shook her head. "It's just too much," She said aloud.

As she looked toward the steps, she saw a plume of smoke near the water. Someone must have been enjoying a bonfire. But no, she realized this smoke wasn't flowing with the wind. It was hanging over a fixed spot, and it had a definite shape. Goose bumps covered Georgia's arms. She turned away from the sight and swept her flashlight in the direction of the steps. She walked as quickly as she could in the soft sand, trying to ignore the ghostly mist. Against her better judgment, she stole one last look. Even as she turned, she chided herself, "Remember what happened to Lot's wife?"

The specter was gone. Nothing but black sky, black sea, and something black on the sand that hadn't been there before. It was too big to be driftwood. She took a few steps toward it, shined the beam against it, and screamed.

X X X

Washington, DC

The sun was bright against the bricks and stained glass of the Catholic church. Norman Rockwell couldn't have produced a more perfect autumn morning. The mahogany double-doors swung open, and the parishioners flooded out, talking and laughing, bidding farewell to Father McCue before descending the wide steps and heading off to their Sunday dinners.

Across the street from this lovely scene sat a dark car with tinted windows. Mulder watched the church from behind his sunglasses. He was waiting for her, but she still surprised him when she stepped into the sunlight. The gentle breeze blew her flame of hair against her ivory skin. Her pastel flowered dress was nothing like he'd seen her wear before. He'd stopped breathing. He closed his mouth and wondered if she'd noticed him. No, she was talking to a woman, then to Father McCue. Her eyes surveyed her surroundings before she descended the steps, then they focused on his vehicle.

He opened the door and unfolded his lanky frame. He leaned against the car and folded his arms across his chest. Then he saw her blue eyes fix on him, and she was not happy.

It sounded cliche, but he took her breath away. He was in black. His boots, jeans, leather jacket. Heck, even his holster was black. His gun was black. Behind his black sunglasses she knew he was looking at her. A few strands of dark hair hung down over his forehead, giving him an air of Elvis. She knew he was trying to look cool, and the worst thing was he had completely succeeded. More importantly, however, why was he crashing her Sunday?

She looked both ways and strode across the pavement toward him. She planned to remain stoic, but she saw his mouth break into a grin, and she found herself stifling her own. She looked at her shoes. (No smiling.)

"Hey Scully," He said.

"What's up?" She asked quickly. (Cut to the chase.) She pulled her cell phone from her sweater pocket, lifted it plainly before his face and pushed the power button. "What couldn't wait?"

Mulder licked his lips. It would have been comforting if for just once she pretended to be glad to see him. (Well, I'll just have to drag this out a little.) "Just thought I'd come by and check you out in your Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes." He looked her up and down and then clucked his tongue. "Nice."

She cocked her head to the side. "Seriously, Mulder."

"Get in," he sounded a little annoyed. Without a word he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her.

"I'm supposed to be at my mom's this afternoon," She told him once he was seated beside her.

"I just got a call from the Jacksonville field office and they'd like our help on something."

"So we're going to Jacksonville today?" (Just great, I'm going to disappoint Mom again.)

He smiled and held up two airplane tickets. "Actually we're going to the panhandle - Ft. Walton Beach." He started the car.

X X X

Ft. Walton Beach, Florida  
Sunday, 7:00pm

The agents could tell from the expression on Georgia Callaway's face that she was surprised to see two FBI agents standing on her doorstep.

"No one told me they'd called in the FBI," she said nervously. "Please come in."

Inside the small concrete block house, an elderly man was seated on a blue sofa. Two folding trays complete with half-eaten tv dinners were before him. Georgia hurriedly moved the trays away. The man stood and extended his hand warmly.

"I'm Charles Hatcher," he said. "A friend of Georgia's."

"You've come to ask me questions about Ellen." Georgia stated.

"Yes ma'am," Mulder replied.

Georgia sighed and sat down. Charles joined her and held her hand. "Okay. But I already told the police and I don't think they much appreciated my story." Her eyes flitted toward Charles, then up to the agents. They were filled with uncertainty.

"Ms. Callaway," Scully said. "I think you'll find Agent Mulder and myself a little more understanding."

Georgia nodded. She told them every detail of that evening. "And when I found her, I thought it must have been one of the ghosts that caused it. Sinister things going on in this town nowadays. Awful. Maybe one of those college boys." She was beginning to ramble.

"College boys?" Mulder asked.

"Yes. That died back in 69."

Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. "Ms. Callaway," Scully said gently. "You think that some college students' ghosts haunt the beach?"

Georgia looked nervous. She gripped Charles' hand tighter. "Go ahead, Georgia hon." Charles prodded. "Just tell 'em what you feel."

Georgia sighed, anticipating ridicule. "In 1969 Hurricane Josephine came through here. Several college boys from up in Tennessee were on vacation, and they decided to get somebody to tie them to some trees near the beach. That way they could be right in the middle of it."

Both of the agents' brows furrowed. Charles nodded in affirmation of Georgia's words. "They didn't think of the storm surge." He added.

Georgia stood up and walked to the front window. "For some reason that storm and what happened to those boys - I don't think I've ever been the same." She turned back to face them. "Can you imagine what a horrible way to die? Salt water slamming against you until it was way over your head? Helpless to save yourself? Knowing that the water wouldn't recede until long after you needed to take your next breath?"

Scully nodded. Gently she said, "Ms. Callaway, the police think that this was an accidental drowning -"

"I know, but I think they're wrong. There is something evil working in this town. I can feel it."

X X X

Charles followed Mulder and Scully to the car. "Listen, I know that Georgia sounds crazy -" He began.

Mulder interrupted. "Not as crazy as some might think."

"I appreciate that," Charles said. "She knows evil when she feels it. I just think that on this matter she's horribly mistaken." Charles took a business card from his pocket and handed it to Mulder.

"Angelologist?"

"Yes sir. I study the philosophy of angels." Charles paused to let that sink in, expecting the usual skepticism. "Now, Georgia feels something evil in the works here, but I think she's incorrectly attributing it to the ghostly figure she saw on the beach. Did you know that Ellen Bryson was mildly mentally retarded?"

"Yes, we read that in the report," Scully answered.

"You see, guardian angels are closer to folks like that," Charles continued. "I don't know what caused Ellen to drown, but the specter Georgia saw was most likely just an attending angel seeing the poor child off to heaven."

X X X

"Sounds like your kinda case, Scully," Mulder said as he headed west.

Scully smiled slightly. "Because?"

"Oh, you know - angels. That sounds right down your alley. I mean, you do believe in angels, don't you?"

Scully didn't appreciate Mulder's tone. "I believe they exist, yes. But whether they're flying around, visible to the human eye, helping the mentally impaired to heaven, I don't think so."

"So you favor the evil ghost theory?" He was teasing her now.

"I favor examining the body." She replied firmly.

Mulder shrugged. It was an hour's drive to the medical examiner's office in Pensacola, and Scully wasn't in a playful mood. He glanced over at her. Her right elbow was propped up on her door, her beautiful eyes watched the streetlights streak by. (Say something cheerful.) "Oh, hey, Scully, good news."

She looked at him and raised her skeptical brow. "Let's hear it."

"Sheriff Hickman's daughter is general manager of a hotel, so she comp'd us a room." Mulder paused for effect. "On the beach."

"Really?" Scully looked pleased. This could turn out to be a good trip after all.

X X X

Okaloosa County Medical Examiner's Office, Pensacola  
Same day, 9:00pm

Detective Hatcher handed Scully a folder full of x-rays. "I think you'll find it's a pretty straightforward drowning," He commented.

"Well you may be right," Scully said. "Thank you."

Mulder reached into his pocket and retrieved the business card. "I'm sorry, but are - are you any relation to Charles Hatcher?"

"The Angelologist?" Detective Hatcher grinned. "He's my dad."

Scully snapped off her latex gloves and tossed them in the red biohazard container. Then she flipped on the light to illuminate the x-rays of Ellen Bryson's chest.

"See right here," She said to Mulder and Detective Hatcher. "A hairline fracture on each side." The men examined the image.

"It seems like the force required to break her ribs would've left bruising." Hatcher said.

"I would agree," Scully said. "Except for one thing. Did you realize that Ellen had Turner's Syndrome?"

Hatcher's brow furrowed. "No, what is it?"

Mulder's eyes were riveted to Scully's face. He felt his pulse pick up, knowing she was about to lay out some brilliant theory. (I love it when she's like this.)

"It's a genetic disorder in which the second X chromosome is either missing or incomplete."

"Is that what caused her mental impairment?" Mulder asked.

"Oh no," Scully said. "Turner's has nothing to do with that. In fact most women with the disorder are of above-average intelligence." She turned back to the x-ray and pointed to one of the fractures. "It does, however, cause a variety of health problems such as poor vision, hearing, and -"

"Weak bones." Hatcher finished for her.

Scully nodded. "Exactly." She flipped the light off and returned the x-rays to their folder. "I'll be interested to meet with the residents of Ellen's group home tomorrow."

Detective Hatcher was staring at her in amazement. He nodded. "Me too." As Scully left to remove her lab garb, Hatcher quietly commented to Mulder, "She's good."

"You have no idea." Mulder replied.

X X X

U.S. Highway 98 Monday, 1:00am

"I still say that the rib fractures could have been caused by a spiritual entity."

Scully didn't bother to conceal her yawn. "Mulder, ghosts don't hurt people."

"If you'd like me to provide you with an in-depth explanation of various forms of manifestation, I'd be happy to."

"That's okay." Scully was definitely tired.

"Besides, I didn't think you believed in ghosts."

"I don't. But I do recall you once lecturing me about how we shouldn't be afraid of ghosts, they can't hurt us, blah blah blah."

Her comment stung a little. "A lecture?" He turned the car into the parking lot of the Sea Oats Motel.

"Ellen's injury was caused by something pressing on her chest." Scully reiterated.

"Or maybe she was crushed under something heavy." Mulder added.

"Yes, but if so, how did she get into the water?"

"I just wish you wouldn't allow yourself to ignore the possibility that there are paranormal forces at work here. Georgia Callaway's story -"

"I know," Scully interrupted, exasperated. "You don't have to give me your extreme possibilities speech, Mulder, okay? I know it by heart."

Mulder shut off the engine and opened his door. As he stepped out he muttered, "I don't lecture you."

Scully climbed out and walked back to the trunk. "Yes, Mulder. Sometimes you do."

Mulder reached for her suitcase, but she grabbed it first. For a moment they locked gazes. Then Mulder curled his fingers over her small hand and tugged gently.

Scully knew that Mulder wanted to carry her suitcase, he always did. "I've got it," she said.

Mulder didn't take his eyes from hers. "Come on, Scully, I didn't mean to -"

"It's okay," She replied. (Why aren't you letting go of my hand?)

"I don't want to argue," he said quietly.

Scully looked away. It was one of those moments when she felt the lines between them blur. What was professional courtesy and what was affection? If she had been a male agent, Mulder would not be standing there holding her hand and speaking in that tender tone.

What did they really want from each other anyway? She felt as if her heart was a music box that was kept tightly wound but never played. She released the suitcase. He hoisted it out and then grabbed his own.

X X X

Same day, 7:30am

Scully awoke to the sound of the sea. The roaring waves had soothed her to sleep, and now they roused her gently. She stretched luxuriously and wished with all her heart that she was on vacation. For most people vacations were annual traditions, weren't they?

The phone rang.

"Scully, it's me."

Scully sat up and looked at the bedside clock. "Mulder, I'm not quite ready."

"That's okay. Listen, Georgia Callaway contacted me this morning. She and her spiritual advisor are going to meet me at the beach."

"But we were going to the group home."

Mulder paused. "Um, I know. I -"

Scully sighed loudly into the phone.

"I called Detective Hatcher, he's going to pick you up at 8:30."

"But Mulder -"

"Scully, I know you can handle it. And I know you're not interested in talking to Georgia's spiritual advisor, are you?"

"You're right about that. Okay Mulder, I'll see you later."

X X X

8:30am

Detective Hatcher drove a silver pickup that sported a bumper sticker: "American by birth, Southern by the grace of God."

Scully climbed up into the cab and noticed a little cardboard pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror.

"Your partner thinks that Georgia Callaway has more information?" Hatcher said as he put the truck in reverse. He looked back over his right shoulder. "If he thinks she was involved at all, I can assure you -"

"No, it's not that." Scully said. She was still looking at the little pine tree, thinking of a night with Mulder on stakeout. (If there's an iced tea in that bag, could be love.)

Hatcher looked at her, anticipating further explanation. With none forthcoming, he changed the subject. "Ellen Bryson worked at a record store just a few blocks from her home. She was last seen leaving work at 7:00pm. The staff at the home reported her missing at nine."

Scully looked at him and shook her head. "Classic, just classic."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." Scully replied quietly.

X X X

Ellen's group home housed six adults with learning disabilities. Most of them had jobs, and some of them planned to live independently one day. Mr. Kelly, the director, greeted them at the door and answered their questions about Ellen's habits and friends.

"She's especially close to Tyler Bell," Mr. Kelly told them as he led them to Tyler's room.

Tyler was only about 5'6", but he weighed at least 200 pounds. Scully noticed he exhibited all the signs of Down's Syndrome.

"She worked at the music store." He told them.

"Do you have a job too?" Hatcher asked.

"Yes. At the hardware store. I put the screws and nails in the right boxes."

Scully nodded. "Tyler, the day that Ellen didn't come home - did you see her that day?"

Tyler's eyes darted back and forth uncomfortably. "Yes. I saw her every day. It's important that the screws are in the right boxes."

"Tyler." Scully said, trying to get his attention. "Was there anyone Ellen was afraid of, anybody who was mean to her?"

Little beads of sweat were forming on Tyler's upper lip. "Sometimes the manager at her store was mean to her, one time when she put Lil Wayne in the Lil Troy section."

Scully nodded. "What about people here at home? Does everyone here get along?"

"Yes, we're all friends. I don't like rap, but some people do."

"I don't like it either," Hatcher spoke up.

Tyler nodded his head. "I've got to go eat breakfast now," he said, still obviously rattled. "I have to leave for work at ten o'clock. I can't be late."

"Okay, Tyler. Go ahead and get your breakfast." Mr. Kelly said.

"Can we talk to Ellen's roommate?" Hatcher asked.

"She's not here right now," Mr. Kelly replied. "She works at the Goodwill store, and she's scheduled to be back here at four."

X X X

"Tyler Bell was acting very agitated." Hatcher said after they'd returned to the privacy of the truck.

Scully nodded. "I noticed. But people with Down's Syndrome are usually highly caring and empathetic people. I find it hard to believe he would hurt his best friend."

Hatcher thought for a moment. "He's a big guy - maybe it was just an accident."

X X X

Gulf Breeze Shopping Center  
11:00am

Scully closed her flip phone. "He'll be here in a few minutes."

Hatcher leaned against his truck. "Any new information?"

"It didn't sound like it." In fact, Mulder had sounded very disappointed in his trip to the beach. Scully smirked. "You know, my partner was persuaded to give credence to Georgia Callaway's tale."

Hatcher licked his lips and nodded knowingly. "I see."

"Your father had quite a different theory."

He cocked his head to one side. "I'm not sure why we have to go into it."

"Because of what Georgia Callaway saw on the beach. That's what my partner is focusing on."

"Well, some folks 'round here would say that Georgia's a few peas short of a casserole. So the importance of her 'vision' is negligible, if you ask me."

"So you agree with your father's theory about what Georgia saw?"

Hatcher looked at her intently with his light blue eyes. "No. Not that I don't believe in angels, Agent Scully. But honestly, some of the things that my dad thinks are just - well, they're just not right in my book."

"I didn't have a chance to really talk to him."

"Okay. What do you think of this?" Hatcher leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "Sitting around meditating, trying to 'receive' letters so that you can figure out the name of your guardian angel?"

Scully's forehead wrinkled. She could smell his after shave. Polo? "Sounds kind of Ouiji."

"That's how I feel. Some lady once saw a G, so her angel was Gabriel, of course." He flashed a white smile. "So I accept some things, you see, but then others are just a bit much."

(That's me in a nutshell.) "At any rate, at least your father's theory doesn't rule out a mortal perpetrator." Scully said.

X X X

Ellen's Group Home 4:00pm

"Mr. Kelly, I need to inform you that I will be taking Tyler Bell to the Sheriff's Office for more questioning." Detective Hatcher said.

"What?" Mr. Kelly looked truly surprised. "Surely you don't suspect him."

"He seems to be the last person to see Ellen alive."

"Mr. Kelly," Scully said gently. "Tyler left work that night at seven, and your records show he was home by eight. Several people who work in that same shopping center saw Tyler and Ellen walking together a little after seven."

Mr. Kelly shook his head. "I can't believe it."

Scully patted his arm. "Is Ellen's roommate home?"

"We kept waiting for her to come home from work, but she never did." Ellen's roommate Amy twirled a lock of her dark brown hair in her fingers.

"I'm very sorry," Scully said.

Amy nodded. "She always walked home, and she knew the way, nothing bad ever happens here."

"Amy, I don't know if you know it, but we think that someone hurt Ellen."

Amy's eyes swam with tears. She sniffed. "I know. Something pressed down on her and she couldn't breathe good."

Mulder and Scully exchanged surprised glances.

"Really?" Mulder said. He kneeled down beside her. "How do you know?"

A tear fell onto Amy's lap. "Tyler told me."

X X X  
Mulder walked Scully to her hotel room. "He'll be released to Mr. Kelly's custody, Scully. He'll be okay."

"I still can't really believe it." Scully replied. "And he's so frightened. Did you see the look on his face?"

Mulder nodded. "I agree with Hatcher that it was probably an accident. Poor kid was just scared."

They reached her door. "Good night, Mulder."

Mulder looked surprised. "Um, I was gonna go ahead and call the airline and -"

"I'm not going back to Washington tonight."

"You wanna go in the morning?"

"I'm going to stay here a few days."

Mulder stared at her. "You're kidding."

Scully shook her head. "I haven't had any time off in awhile, and you know, I haven't been able to enjoy the beach yet."

Mulder looked puzzled. "You didn't say anything about it."

"It was kind of last minute. I've extended my reservation, just to get some R and R."

Mulder still looked puzzled. "So, I'll see you - when?"

"Bright and early." She turned toward the door, then looked back at him. "In a few days."

"Okay." Mulder said weakly as she shut the door. He always enjoyed going over the case with her on the plane, and writing the report with her as soon as they returned. As he sulked back to his room, he admitted to himself that even though he knew they needed time apart, he hadn't been wanting any lately. In fact, he kicked himself for wasting his morning on the beach without her. "I might not want time apart," He said under his breath as he unlocked his door. "But you sure seem to."

X X X  
Tuesday

Scully spent half of Tuesday in the shops, buying beachwear and a couple of light novels. The rest of the day she was on the beach, watching the waves and reading.

That evening Scully put on her new sandals and walked eastward, down the beach. The sun was setting, her shadow stretched out before her. The waves were sliding up over the white sand, shining in the golden, fading sunlight before the sea pulled them back.

An hour later, Scully was enjoying her broiled grouper on the deck of Captain Snapper's. It was dark now, and little kids were running around with flashlights on the beach. The case had been solved, the sea breeze was delicious, and the night was gorgeous.

"Agent Scully?" A voice made her jump. She looked up to see Detective Hatcher.

"Detective." Scully was surprised. "Nice to see you again."

"Mind if I sit down?" He asked. He looked around, trying to determine if Scully had a dinner partner.

"Please do." Scully replied.

Hatcher settled into the chair. "So, the beauty of this place grabbed ya, huh?" He asked her, surveying the night sky.

"Yeah, well - let's just say I haven't had any R and R in a long time." She smiled.

The waitress approached. "Good evening, can I get you a drink?"

"Please, let me have a Bud light."

"Do you need a menu also?"

"Oh nah - just give me an order of grouper backs."

The waitress scribbled on her pad and then flashed a smile. "Be right back."

Scully watched as a kid's flashlight swept across the sand below. "They're having so much fun," she commented.

Hatcher twisted in his chair to look at the beach. He chuckled. "Crab hunting - I used to do that when I was kid."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, but thankfully the waitress returned with the beer. Hatcher took a swig and sighed. "I think we both deserve a beer," he said. He surveyed the table and her water glass. "You want one?"

"Oh, no thanks." Scully replied. A funny feeling passed over her. (Was that supposed to mean something, when a man offers to buy a woman a drink?)

"The case came together in the end - man, that's the way it should be all the time." He said.

Scully took another bite of her dwindling grouper and nodded. "That rarely happens for us."

"You guys tend to get the weird cases, I hear."

Scully took a sip of water. "Let's just say we get the cases that fall into the 'mystery' category. And then sometimes Mulder digs through files and finds something that catches his attention - a cold case, and then he's like -" She looked into the sky and tried to find the right word. An almost dreamy expression came over her, and she said, "Tenacious."

Hatcher nodded. "That's why they sent you."

"Yes."

"Your specialty." Hatcher offered.

Scully smiled. "Well, my specialty is keeping Mulder from going overboard with his fantastic theories." She took the last bite of fish. "His specialty is looking for extreme possibilities, and in -" She paused and rolled her eyes.

"Pushing your buttons?" Hatcher suggested teasingly.

"You could say that."

"You seem to have a very successful partnership, you should be proud."

(Successful? Half the time I feel like throttling him and the other half I feel like taking him in my arms and-) "It's been a challenge."

The waitress arrived with the grouper backs, something Scully had never seen before. She looked at them with curiosity, and Hatcher said, "Kind of like the hot chicken wings of the sea." He flashed a toothy grin. "Spicy."

"Mulder always likes spicy-" (Wait. Quit thinking about him, Dana.)

"'Nother beer?" The waitress asked.

"Please." Hatcher looked back at Dana. "You sure you don't want a drink?"

"Um, yeah." Scully replied. "A margarita on the rocks, please."

"Good choice." Hatcher said.

X X X

An hour later, Scully had finished her second margarita and was feeling pleasantly tipsy. She and Hatcher walked down the wooden steps back onto the beach, but this time Scully was carrying her sandals, letting her toes enjoy the cool, fine sand. It squeaked under their feet as they walked. Then Scully remembered something. "Your car -"

"Aw, naw," He said, his southern drawl more pronounced. "The walk'll do me good."

"I'll be all right." She protested.

"I know." He responded. Then he looked a bit concerned. "You don't want me to -"

Scully put her hand up. "No, I just didn't want to trouble -"

"No trouble." He replied.

The wind and the ocean roar were soothing sounds, and they walked in silence for quite a while. Then to Scully's surprise, Hatcher asked, "So you like margaritas on the rocks?"

"Yeah." Scully was feeling more tipsy by the minute. (I guess it took that second one a little while to kick in.)

"Why?" When it was obvious to him that Scully didn't know what he meant, he said, "I mean, as opposed to the frozen ones."

"Oh." Scully smiled. "I don't know - I hardly ever drink." She squinted her eyes as if she was thinking very hard. (Man, did that thing kick in.) "There's just too much ice in the frozen ones. The flavor comes out better on the rocks." They walked a few more steps. "Why do you ask?"

"My ex-wife's favorite drink was a margarita on the rocks." He replied. "Just wondering."

(Why is he telling me about his ex-wife? What do I say now?) "She had good taste." No sooner was it out of her mouth than Scully realized her error. "I mean in drinks."

He chuckled. "But not in men?"

He was teasing her, but that didn't change the fact that due to her blunder, the conversation had taken a decidedly personal turn. (Best to joke it off.) "Oh, I admire any civilian who marries a law enforcement ossif - officer."

He was still smiling broadly. "Me too."

"There it is," She said, indicating her hotel.

"Yes, I know." He said, winking at her.

"Oh, sheesh," She ran her hand through her hair. "Of course. I think I shouldn't have had two."

"Well, you know they make 'em pretty strong at the Captain's. You get your money's worth." They walked up the steps to the swimming pool. "I, uh, maybe I'll see you before you head back to DC."

Scully smiled, looking sleepy now. "Okay. Good night." She turned to take a step to the right, and stumbled. "Whoa."

Hatcher helped her stand. She wondered how in the world he had gotten to her side so quickly. Suddenly it was like there were two parts of her brain - the drunk part, which seemed to be unable to perform properly, and the sober part which was objectively watching everything. The sober part of her said, (You're really drunk. You're experiencing a kind of missing time, like a black out.)

(Missing time!) The drunk part of her brain thought it and couldn't keep it from coming out of her mouth. She laughed out loud.

"What?" Hatcher was amused but a little concerned.

"Nothing!" Scully was still laughing. "Inside joke." (Inside joke, get it?)

(I get it.) Her sober self replied. (It's not funny. Stop acting like this.)

(I can't!)

(Yes. You can. Now pull yourself together. Walk right. Talk right.)

(OK, OK, I'll try.)

She looked at Hatcher. "I'm fine." She said. (Did that sound okay?)

(I think so, but I'm not sure.)

Hatcher nodded. "You were telling the truth about not drinking much, weren't you?"

Scully nodded. "Yesh." (That was good.)

(No, it sounded like "yesh!")

(No it didn't, did it?)

"Yes." Scully said again.

Then they were at her door. "Here we are." Hatcher said.

(How'd we get here?)

(It's the missing time again, you stinking drunk.)

(Oh yeah.) "Thanks." Scully pulled out her key and unlocked the door. "You wanna come in?" She asked. (What are you doing?) "Oh yeah, right. Never mind. I didn't mean -"

"It's okay. Good night, Agent Scully."

"Good night, Hatcher." She closed the door and flipped the dead bolt. (See, I remembered to lock the dead bolt. I am fine.)

(Whatever. Are you sure it's locked?)

(Yes, see? It's locked.)

(Good, now go to bed.)

(That Hatcher sure was a gentleman, wasn't he?)

(And you better be glad of it.)

(I am.)

And she slept.

X X X

The sun was bright when she awoke. It took her a few minutes to gather her wits and put the night back together. "Oh no." She moaned. "No." She lifted up on her elbows. Hangover? What's a hangover feel like? She sat up all the way. (Thirsty.) She stood and headed for the sink. After some water she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked all right. She felt all right. No headache, nothing. (Guess I'm spared.)

She showered, changed into her bathing suit, grabbed her novel and headed down to the beach.

This was something she wasn't used to - acting like a tourist, laying on the sand, baking in the sun, the sea breeze keeping her cool and the sound of children playing nearby. The sun was so bright, blindingly white. The dark world of the X-Files seemed miles away.

Wouldn't it be nice if it were all just a dream? She thought. (Yes, and this is reality. This is real. This is life. That was all a nightmare. The aliens, the black oil, the cigarette smoking man, Mulder. Mulder. But that's the one -) A shadow fell across her book. (I mention him, and a cloud covers the sun?)

"Scully."

(And now I'm hearing him?) She rolled over. He stood there, in his suit. He looked pitifully out of place. The breeze whipped his jacket, and blew his pants against his legs. "What are you doing here?"

"Wow, happy to see me, huh?" He said sarcastically.

She sat all the way up, and realizing her attire, tried to sit in the most modest pose she could think of - Indian-style with her hands in her lap. "No, I just wasn't expecting you."

"Obviously." He smiled. "Nice threads."

"Mulder." She rolled her eyes. "I thought we agreed I was taking a break - getting some personal time?"

"We did."

"And what happened?" (Don't tell me you can't live without me.) She wished she didn't want it to be true.

"I realized I can't live without you." He said.

(Is he joking? He's got to be joking.) "Ha ha. Very funny. Now what is it, Mulder?"

"You didn't answer your cell phone or your hotel phone."

(My cell phone? Where is it?) Her mind raced through the previous night's events. She had no idea where her phone was. "Sorry. Seriously, what's up?"

"There's been another death."

"What?" She stood up. "Who?"

"Tyler Bell. Turns out our case wasn't as neat and tidy as we thought."

"Agent Mulder, Scully." Detective Hatcher approached them.

"Detective." Mulder said, extending a hand.

Scully cringed imperceptibly. She never thought she'd be working with Hatcher again. "Detective Hatcher." She said.

Hatcher and Scully didn't shake hands, which Mulder thought a bit odd. What he really thought odd was what happened next. Hatcher grinned like the Cheshire cat and said, "Told you I'd see you again, although I wish it were different circumstances." Then he reached into his pants pocket and retrieved something.

Mulder looked intently at Hatcher's hand as it moved from his pocket toward Scully. It was a cell phone. (What the?)

Scully took the phone. "Oh, thank you."

(Why in the hell does Hatcher have her cell phone?) Mulder wondered.

"You're welcome." He looked at her attire. "You uh, want to uh, change, and uh, meet at the scene?"

(Uh, and you can, uh, stop looking at her now.) Mulder thought.

"Yes. Sure. I'll hurry."

Hatcher headed back to the parking lot, and Mulder followed Scully to her room. He waited while she changed, and then sat on the bed and watched her as she brushed her hair.

"Scully."

"Yeah"

"You lost your cell phone?"

Scully blinked. "I, uh, I guess I lost it last night. I guess, uh, Hatcher picked it up."

(You and Hatcher both seem to have a big case of the "uhs.") And try as he might to fight it, Mulder's territorial side flared up. He tamped it down. (No, no, no.) But it came out anyway. "I thought you were just after some personal time."

Scully turned around. "I was."

(Don't say it, don't say it.) "He's why you stayed over?" (I told you not to say it.) "You planned this?"

"No, of course not. I just ran into him at dinner." (Why am I explaining myself to him?)

"Oh." Mulder wasn't sure he believed her. Still, it was stupid of him to behave like a jealous boyfriend.

"Stop acting like a jealous boyfriend."

"I'm not - I just, thought we were always honest with each other, that's all. I mean, if you met somebody, and you wanted to stay and spend more time with him, then I don't see why you can't just -"

Scully sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I didn't." She brushed her hair again. "It was a perfect coincidence, Mulder. That's all. Period." She turned to face him. "How about this: I promise if I ever get the hots for one of the local PD, I'll let you know before I run off for the weekend with him. I'll be perfectly honest about the whole thing. Why shouldn't I be?"

"Exactly. Why shouldn't you be?"

"I was honest, Mulder. I was eating my dinner, and there he was. I was just as surprised as he was."

X X X

The Group Home

The crime scene was marked off with police tape, including a small white Ranger pickup with a hole in the driver's side door.

"The staff took everyone for an outing," Hatcher said. "They were pretty upset. Mr. Kelly's inside."

Mulder looked at car door. "So they struggled for the rifle, he says."

Hatcher nodded. "Tyler was threatening to kill himself, and Mr. Kelly was trying to stop him."

"I'm wondering - what was a young man with Down's Syndrome doing with a rifle?"

"That's the ironic part. Tyler's father had come into town when he heard Tyler'd been accused of manslaughter, and he was a big deer hunter. Supposedly, Tyler went out early this morning, got the gun out of the truck. Mr. Kelly followed him outside, and the struggle ensued."

"Well," Scully sighed. "I'd like to examine Tyler's body."

X X X  
Hatcher rolled up the police tape in his hand and cursed under his breath. "Damned waste."

Mr. Bell's sister had just driven the distraught old man away in the white truck. Now with the police tape removed, the front yard of the group home looked as if nothing extraordinary had happened that day.

As if on cue, a green van pulled up in the driveway, and the residents climbed out. Some of them looked at Hatcher and the bunch of yellow plastic in his hand. Some of them looked only at the front door as they made a bee-line for it, not wanting to think about why a law enforcement officer was standing on the lawn. Only Amy, her hair disheveled and her arms clutching her purse against her stomach, approached him.

Her eyes were red and moist from recent crying. She sniffed. "Tyler's daddy left?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Kelly here?"

"Yes." Hatcher squeezed the ball of plastic until it was as small as possible. He looked at it. It was still too big to fit in his pocket. "Amy, Mr. Kelly is going to call everyone's family -"

Mr. Kelly appeared on the front porch. "There you are." He said. "Come on inside, I need to talk to everyone."

Amy took a step toward Detective Hatcher. Her eyes darted to Mr. Kelly, then down at the ground. "I, uh -" She sniffed loudly.

"What is it, Amy?" Hatcher asked gently.

"I need to go in." She glanced at Mr. Kelly again. "But, Detective Hatcher, I need to talk to you alone."

"Okay, Amy. Okay." Hatcher patted her shoulder. "You go on in and see Mr. Kelly, and I'll talk to you soon."

X X X

Scully's eyes widened as she examined Tyler's exit wound. "Mulder, look at this. See these abrasions around the edges of the wound?"

Mulder squinted. "Yeah."

"Tyler's back was pressed up against something when the bullet exited."

Mulder stood up, his mouth falling open. "The truck." He pictured the hole in the white door. It was halfway down, almost the same height as a kneeling -

"I think so."

Mulder already had his phone in his hand, dialing Hatcher.

X X X

4:00pm

Mulder flipped on the radio as they headed back to the group home. Hatcher would get there first and detain Mr. Kelly. Suddenly his eyes widened and he turned up the volume.

The weatherman said, "Hurricane Katrina, currently at 27.5 degrees north, 87.8 degrees west. The storm has stopped its easterly movement and is now headed southwest at 10 miles per hour."

Mulder's cell phone rang. "Mulder."

"He's left." Hatcher said. "He's taken Amy with him."

"Any idea where they're headed?" Mulder glanced worriedly at Scully.

"No. One of the staff said she saw them head west, that's it."

"Okay, we'll be there in just a minute."

"Mulder, look." Scully said suddenly.

A green van sped past them.

"Hatcher. Headed west on Lewis Turner Boulevard." Mulder said. He whipped the car into a parking lot and turned it around. "It's a miracle."

X X X

Kelly headed to Highway 98 with Mulder and Scully following. As he turned left onto 98, Mulder saw Hatcher's white pickup gaining on them, and a Sheriff's cruiser following behind.

They approached a stretch of road flanked on both sides by beach houses in various stages of construction. Mulder dropped back to ensure a safe distance. Kelly hadn't seemed to notice them yet. He glanced over at Scully. She was tapping her finger against the door, her blue eyes riveted to the back of the van.

"There he goes," she said.

The van pulled into one of the construction sites and disappeared from view. Mulder pulled off the road in front of the property and they walked down underneath the house's wooden stilts. The van was on the other side of the next building. They heard the van door slam as Hatcher and the deputy caught up to them.

Guns drawn, they approached the van. Mr. Kelly was walking around to the passenger side door when he saw them approaching. He was completely surprised.

"Agent Mulder?" He asked curiously.

"Where's Amy?" Mulder asked.

"She's in the van," Kelly stated calmly. "We were just going for a walk on the beach. Can I help you?"

"Yes, Mr. Kelly, you can tell us why you killed Tyler Bell." Scully said.

Mr. Kelly looked confused. "I don't understand how you can think that."

He turned back toward the van and opened the side door. "Come on out, Amy," He said in his kindly voice.

Mulder and Scully walked toward the van, knowing they needed to get Mr. Kelly restrained and Amy as far away from him as possible.

"Amy?" Mulder called.

Suddenly Mr. Kelly turned back toward them. "I found something." He held up a handgun.

"Drop it!" All of the officers shouted in unison.

Mr. Kelly looked at the gun. "You know, a hurricane's coming. I heard it on the radio on the way over here."

"Put the gun down, Mr. Kelly." Mulder said firmly.

"Do you know where the word 'hurricane' came from?"

"Mr. Kelly. We don't want this to end badly." Hatcher said.

"From an old Indian word for evil spirits - Huracan. Remember that storm the night Ellen died? Evil spirits came with it. I know they did. They blew in with it and they made me do it." Mr. Kelly looked longingly at the gun in his hand.

Mulder and Scully exchange glances.

"We're gonna get you help, Mr. Kelly. It's gonna be all right." Mulder said. "Now, put the gun down and let's talk rationally."

"You think I'm not talking rationally?" Kelly asked, becoming agitated. "I'm perfectly rational. I don't know how Tyler knew what happened to Ellen, but he did. And Amy knew what happened to Tyler." He shook his head, tears were now rolling down his cheeks. "I'm telling you the truth. Evil spirits. Huracan. Now another storm's coming in, bringing more with it." Mr. Kelly put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot mingled with shouts of "No!" Echoed down the beach.

X X X

Amy almost fell out of the van into Scully's arms. She was covered in sweat, her red face wet with tears. She leaned on Scully's shoulder and sobbed. "Why did he kill Tyler? Why did he do it? Why?"

"It's okay Amy, you're safe now."

Amy sobbed again. "Is he dead?"

"Yes."

"Did he kill Ellen too?"

"Yes."

"Was he going to kill me?"

"We weren't going to let him."

"But did he want to?"

"I think so."

"He was a bad man."

"Yes, but nobody knew it."

X X X

"Your mom is coming to pick you up," Scully said to Amy as she passed the cold can of Coke to her in the back seat.

"I wanted Dr. Pepper." Amy said.

Mulder handed her his drink and took the Coke. "Here you go."

Amy took a long swig.

"Amy?" Mulder asked. "I want to ask you a question."

"Okay."

"Why didn't Tyler tell anyone that Mr. Kelly killed Ellen?"

"Didn't think anyone would believe him."

"But if he saw -"

"He didn't see. The angel told him."

X X X

Scully's stomach was growling as they finished up at the Sheriff's office. It was almost 8 o'clock and she was tired.

Hatcher stepped up behind her. "Some day."

Scully sighed. "You can say that again. Hatcher, should we be concerned about the hurricane?"

"Not particularly. Folks in Louisiana sure are though. It ought to make landfall there in about 20 hours."

"Good, because I don't want to change my morning flight."

"Oughta be fine." Then he smiled. "You don't seem any worse for wear. I was kind of worried about how you were gonna feel this morning."

(Had it only been the night before she was carefree and drinking margaritas?) "Yes, thanks. I'm, uh, kind of embarrassed about that."

"No need to be. You just weren't used to it."

"Obviously." She paused. "Um, Hatcher, where was my phone?"

"After I left your hotel and walked back to my car, the waitress gave it to me."

Mulder appeared behind Hatcher, and Scully wondered if he'd heard their last exchange.

"You want to get dinner?" Mulder asked Scully.

"Sure." She replied.

"OK, I'll see you guys -"

"You want to come with us?" Scully asked him.

"Oh no, that's okay. I still have some things to do before I can go home."

"Okay, good night."

"Good night. Oh - Agent Scully," He said, remembering something.

"Yes?"

"No margaritas." He flashed his wide, bright grin. Then he nodded toward a car which was pulling into the parking lot. "Hey, that's dad."

Georgia Callaway climbed out of the car and shook all their hands enthusiastically. "I just wanted to tell you before you left. Thank you, thank you."

Mulder nodded at her. "Mrs. Callaway, I want to ask you about something Kelly said. Do you think that storms have any connection to evil spirits?"

"Is that what he told you?" Georgia smiled. "Nobody ever guessed that fellow was a few fries short of a happy meal." She patted Mulder's hand. "No, Agent Mulder. Storms don't bring evil spirits around. People do that just fine on their own."

X X X

"Ahh, cheeseburger in paradise." Mulder said as the waitress gave him his plate. He took a big bite and wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin as Scully dug into her mahi mahi. He eyed her for a moment, then said, "No margaritas, huh?"

"Oh." Scully replied uncomfortably. "Yeah."

Mulder was silent for a long moment. Then finally, "So - you two crazy kids got drunk last night?"

Scully smiled. "Well, I got drunk, I don't know about him."

Mulder nodded. He didn't really know what to say, but his thoughts were full of adolescent things like, "Why in the hell did you let yourself be so vulnerable around a man you barely know?" and "So you have to be with a stranger before you can let your hair down?" He felt cheated, somehow. Hatcher knew something about Scully - the drunk Scully - that Mulder did not know. She had been with him laughing, giggling, and being sexy, he was certain of that.

"Mulder." Scully sounded far away. He looked up at her. She was looking at him - tenderly? He realized his face may have betrayed his thoughts. "Mulder, last night I drank two margaritas after dinner. I didn't think that was going to make me drunk."

Mulder nodded again.

"Here, you want me to have three?" She raised her hand as if she was going to call the waitress over. Mulder reached up and gently tugged her hand down.

"No, don't be silly."

X X X

His phone rang.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me."

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was just - can I come see you for a second?"

"Sure, Scully."

Mulder pulled his pants on and waited for her. Then he decided to wait for her outside the door. Soon she came, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and no shoes. She was adorable.

"Sorry."

"S'okay. What's up?"

"Walk on the beach with me."

"What?"

"Please?"

How could he say no? "Wait a sec." He went in his room, and returned wearing shorts, but still no shirt.

They walked on the beach. Even though the hurricane was far away, the waves were high. They thrashed and roared, and made it difficult for them to talk, but Scully wanted to talk. She had planned to discuss their relationship, but instead found herself talking about the crab-hunting children, the parasailer she'd seen, the seagulls. Soon she was talking about her days at the beach as a child. Mulder listened. He wasn't saying much, but she was talking enough for two. Whatever brought this on, he wasn't going to complain, and he certainly wasn't going to spoil it.

"Here it is," She said. They'd reached Captain's. "Come on."

To his surprise she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the steps. "Wait, wait." Mulder said. He was in a jovial mood now. It was his turn to joke. "If this is your 'special place,' I don't want to spoil it."

"My place?" Scully didn't get the joke.

"I mean what would he say if he found out you'd come here with another man?" Now it was Mulder's turn to grin.

"Whatever." Scully rolled her eyes and pulled him toward the steps.

"Wait." Mulder said again.

"What?"

"No shirt, no shoes -"

"No problem." Scully finished for him. "This is Florida, remember?"

An hour later, both of them were having a margarita under a clouded night sky.

"Don't you ever wish it were just a nightmare?"

"What?"

"The X-Files."

Mulder almost snorted. "No."

"I mean, I didn't mean it that way," Scully explained. "I mean, what if this was our real life. No shoes." She smiled.

Mulder smiled back, but didn't say anything.

As they walked back, he finally said: "Yeah Scully, I wish that the X-files never had to be. I wish that I could have -" He paused and re-worded the sentence. "I wish Samantha had never been taken. I wish that none of it were true."

Scully stopped walking. "Me too. I wish that you could have had a normal life, a normal family."

Mulder nodded. Resignedly he said, "And you wish you'd never met me."

The words cut her, took the wind from her lungs. "No." She said passionately.

He searched her eyes. He was sorry he'd said it. "Scully, sorry - I shouldn't have - I was just -" He was just what? Fishing for a compliment? Wanting to hear her say something she wouldn't say herself? He shook his head.

She put her hand against his chest, a feeling he wasn't prepared for. He stared at her hand as she spoke. "That is what I want to tell you." She said firmly. "That is the only thing - that is what makes it all worthwhile. No matter what, I would always want you to be my best friend."

Mulder covered her hand with his. "I feel the same way."

"Mulder?" She was staring at his hand on hers.

"What?"

"I'm sorry about the whole Hatcher thing. I didn't mean -"

"Scully, stop. It's not like I have a right to be jealous."

Scully started walking again. "Yeah, you do have a right."

He raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"If the tables were turned, I'd be jealous." She smiled. "Gosh, if a pretty lady officer was getting you drunk and walking you to your hotel room -"

"He walked you to your hotel room?"

"Well, yeah."

"Did he go inside?"

"Of course not." Then she smiled. "See? You are jealous."

"Damn straight."

X X X

Scully looked at her watch as Mulder unlocked his door. "Wanna come inside for awhile? "The African Queen" came on at 11:00."

"It's half over," Scully noted.

"I know, but the last half is my favorite part."

"Okay."

An hour later, Bogart and Hepburn were kissing happily and Scully was nodding off on Mulder's bed. She forced herself to sit up. "Sorry, I'm so sleepy."

"Long day."

"You can say that again." She yawned, stretched and stood up. "See you in the morning, Mulder." She walked to the door and opened the safety latch. "Good night," she said. She put her hand on the doorknob, then leaned her forehead against the cold door and yawned again.

Mulder's warm hand covered hers on the doorknob. He was standing right behind her, inches away. "Want me to walk you to your room?"

He put his right hand on her shoulder and suddenly Scully felt wide awake. "No, I'm okay."

They stood there frozen in place, Scully facing the door, and Mulder standing at her back. She thought she could feel him inching closer to her. His face hovered just above her left shoulder. "You know what?"

Scully swallowed. "What?" Her breath fogged the slick white door.

In his soft, deep voice Mulder said, "I don't think Mr. Kelly was right about the derivation of the word 'hurricane.'"

Scully looked at the silver safety latch. "It's not an Indian word?"

"Oh, that it is." Mulder held her hand more snugly in his left, while his right hand brushed her hair aside, exposing her neck. He leaned down, and she felt his hot breath against her skin as he spoke. "Actually, it is possible that the now extinct Taino Indians of the Caribbean may have used the word 'huracan' to mean evil spirit."

"Oh." Scully's heart was pounding in her throat. "So where did Mr. Kelly go wrong?"

"The more widely accepted derivation is from the Mayan word, 'Huraken.'" He paused.

His breath on her neck made her blush. She was glad she was not facing him. "So - what does the Mayan word mean?"

Mulder was examining Scully's neck, admiring each tiny pore, each fine, silky blond hair. He licked his lips. "God of Storms." Then his mouth was on her skin.

Goose bumps covered her entire body and her knees felt weak. She leaned against the door, and Mulder's body pressed up against her. Her goose bumps subsided but then flared up again as he moved his mouth along her neck.

"Mulder." She finally whispered.

He stepped back. She turned to face him, and saw his chest heaving. "Sorry," He said.

"It's okay," Scully said sincerely.

Mulder's phone rang. He threw back his head and let out a sigh at the ceiling. "Mulder." He rolled his eyes. "Hatcher" he mouthed to Scully.

Scully half expected that someone else had been murdered.

"Okay," Mulder said, and closed the phone. He looked at Scully. "Hurricane Katrina's changed course again. Picked up speed and will be here in six hours."

"Ah." Scully sighed. Her adrenaline was pumping from Mulder's touch, but she was dead tired.

"You can sleep while I drive."

"Okay." She looked at him.

A smile was dancing behind his eyes, then finally it broke out fully on his face. She returned it unashamedly. Neither of them had shown that much teeth in quite some time. They stood there and grinned at each other, feeling incredibly goofy, like two teenagers on a first date.

"I'm glad - glad we talked." She said.

"'Bout time."

She nodded. "Yeah." Then she felt the music box of her heart begin to play.

END


End file.
